


Allerleirauh

by vampyrekat



Category: Allerleirauh | All-Kinds-Of-Fur (Fairy Tale), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Also when will AO3 fix the tagging system, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy elements, Lost Princess works so well for this trope welcome to my fairy tale obsession y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampyrekat/pseuds/vampyrekat
Summary: A lost princess in a magic coat that makes her easy to ignore meets someone who is not so easily dissuaded. Fairy tales make it sound so simple.





	Allerleirauh

The woman wore her furs on the inside, the thousand-kinds-of-fur keeping her warm. Gleb could see the patchwork of the fur where it curled over her collar, and he was intrigued by the coat, and when the woman turned –

She was unremarkable. So unremarkable as to be suspicious, and that was what Gleb noticed first of all. But he was curious, and she was interesting, and he offered her tea without thinking of what it might mean.

She thanked him and smiled before running away, and he had wondered for a moment after her pretty smile before it slipped away from his thoughts. She was forgettable.

He didn’t forget.

“I’d almost stopped looking for you on the Nevsky Prospekt,” he confided, and her fingers curled into the patchwork fur of her collar. “Anya, am I right?”

“You’re right,” she whispered, and he leaned back on his heels, gesturing to the chair by this desk. She sat.

“Who are you, Anya?”

She jolted as though he’d shot her and Gleb raised an eyebrow.

“I am not ...” she started slowly, then stopped and reconsidered. “I am a poor child who no longer has a father or a mother.”

“A tragically common story,” he allowed, and held out a cup of tea that she took and did not drink. “What were you doing in the Yusupov Palace?”

“Looking for my family.”

He didn’t have much of an answer to that, except to warn her about the dangers of Romanov ghosts. She smiled and nodded and let him warn her despite how she shifted and tried to twist away from the words; she let him compliment her and relaxed into the chair with a almost-sly smile.

“Where did you get that coat?”

The teacup slipped from her numb fingers and the porcelain shattered against the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said too quickly as she slid to her knees, reaching for the shards with shaking hands, her breath quickening - and just like the last time, he knelt next to her without thought, reaching out to catch her wrist before she could pick up the shards.

Two - three - four too-loud heartbeats before he gestured for her to move to the chair. She stayed on the floor, and picked up a larger shard, running her thumb over the edge. He tried to remember what he’d asked.

He was usually a very good interrogator.

“I’m not accusing you of stealing the furs,” he cautioned, and swept tea-warmed porcelain into his hand. “I know it’s cold. I’m simply curious.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and set the shards inside it, brushing the snowflake-sized pieces from his hands with a sharp sting. She - explanation long discarded - caught his wrist in turn, her mouth turning down into a frown.

“You’re bleeding.”

She sounded concerned. The coat had slipped a little and Gleb could see the collar of the thin shirt she wore, could see where it brushed against the curve of her neck. He wet his lips and tried to smile.

“It’s an occupational hazard.”

There was a thin line of red across his palm and he couldn’t feel it past the awareness that she had touched him. Something about the fur against her skin seemed entrancing and he couldn’t look away from the flutter of her pulse in her throat, couldn’t think past the warmth of her fingers around his wrist, couldn’t hear her past the rush of his own pulse in his ears.

She swayed slightly as he met her eyes.

A heartbeat of memory and he jolted away from the ice blue eyes, remembering gunshots and gates and something that fluttered on the edge of his consciousness. No matter how unremarkable the street sweeper seemed, he was sure they’d met before, but – he would have remembered.

He  _would_  have remembered.

The spell was broken and Anya pulled away, tugging her coat around her. The memory went with her; he was imagining things and she was merely a potential troublemaker.

He gave her a warning and she left for work.

Gleb looked at the cold, tea-and-blood covered porcelain, and tried to hold onto the unremarkable image of her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I love fairy tales and I especially loved the idea of blending Anya with a princess who _chose_ to stay hidden for her own safety. It makes a lot of sense to me that Anya would also want to be easily overlooked, and would be unsettled if someone started to see through her facade. Hell, that's almost canon. I'm not sure how much more I can expand into this universe, but I've definitely enjoyed dipping my metaphorical toes in and if anyone has any ideas, leave them in the comments section!
> 
> As ever, follow my tumblr for more updates and writing snippets at [vampyrekatwrites](http://vampyrekatwrites.tumblr.com/). If you want to see my more general fandom side, my Anastasia blog is at [nanasalt](http://nanasalt.tumblr.com/). Feel free to message me! It's what keeps me writing.


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